03- Tea With a Stranger
by Fahiru
Summary: Life happens wherever you go, whether you make it or not. For SoSaysL. [Twelve Shots of Summer]


**[03] Tea With a Stranger**

**By Fahiru**

The scent of jasmine, smooth and distinct. It curls around his head and soothes his conscience. He breathes deeply before he drinks, letting the liquid fill his stomach and warm his heart.

"The physician came to see me today."

He sets down his cup to look at her. She is pale and frightened, but her eyes are dancing with excitement.

"Prince Iroh," She breathes, "Come Spring, you will be a father."

He inhales sharply, but is careful to conceal his reaction. He takes another sip of tea as he considers an appropriate response. It has happened much sooner than he expected, however, the purpose of taking a wife in the first place was to produce an heir, so he should not express any hint of surprise.

Slowly, he returns the tea cup to the table. He coolly meets her expectant gaze. "This is good news. I will inform the Fire Lord."

He watches her face fall, her shoulder slumping just the slightest bit.

A servant enters with summons to the war meeting. In his peripheral vision he sees her look after him. She makes no move to stop him, nor does she rise as he leaves.

They have been married four weeks, and still he cannot remember her name.

* * *

The summer sun streams through open windows. He sighs and barely relaxes his posture as he enters the room where she waits for him. He is greeted by the familiar aroma of jasmine, powerful and calming.

She sits at the window, watching the turtle-ducks as they splash about in the pond. She hears him come in and rises to greet him with a serene smile. He pauses for hardly a beat before joining her at the table.

She serves him first- carefully pouring the steaming tea, measuring the liquid with her eyes- before pouring for herself. He watches her with carefully concealed fascination, but when she glances up he quickly turns his gaze to the swirling tea leaves in the bottom of his cup.

He is uneasy, but doesn't know why. He has spent his whole life on his own up to this point, but now he has to share it. He glances back up at her. She is still slim and doll-like; not very lively and definitely not very pregnant. When they first met she was quiet, never spoke out of turn; the perfect bride for the perfect prince. He had had no interest in her whatsoever.

But he has started to notice things about her; that she rarely parts her hair, never asks to see her family, never speaks to anyone aside from himself but the servants, that she doesn't like closed windows. She never talks back, but reacts- minutely- to everything he does. She blushes lightly, saddens slowly, and always smells of jasmine. It is unsettling. After years of military experience, he unintentionally has been observing her as he would any other threat.

But she's not a threat, and he knows it. Although she may be the only person in the nation whom he can trust as a true ally, she makes him nervous. True, she is quiet and obedient, but she is also persistent. Having someone approach him so insistently makes him uneasy. Almost...scared.

He looks up, bracing himself against the impulse to turn away from her. She catches his eye, and holds it. Her smile catches him off guard, and he flinches. Cursing under his breath, he tries to regain his composure.

But she is sensitive to his every movement, and the serenity is gone.

The tea in his cup has gone cold.

* * *

She is as brilliant as the Autumn leaves, but as they fall from the trees, so she seems to drift away.

He doesn't know what to do. He sends her gifts and drinks her tea, but still she fades. Her hair loses its luster and her eyes become dull. There are whispers about the palace; that she was never suitable after all, that all the worth she has now lies in her heritage and in her womb.

She hears, but does not respond. She does not open his presents, but she continues to make tea.

He takes more time to see her. He invites her family, her childhood acquaintances. She speaks with them pleasantly, but will not smile. She entertains the company of her youth for hours, yet continues to wilt.

And he realizes that she is just like him. Raised for the purpose of bearing a stranger's child, born to be bound to nothing but a cold prince, who was born to be alone. He sees that her family is congenial without warmth, that none of her friends seem to know her.

He is all she has.

* * *

He waits for her. When she arrives, she does not try to conceal her surprise. She never does.

He sits her down and pours her tea. His movements are measured, but unsuitable for the ceremony. The tea is too weak, but still she drinks it. He does not return to his seat, but stays kneeling beside her. She sets down her cup to look at him.

Carefully, he takes her hands in his. She trembles, and he presses her palms. Breathing steadily, he looks her in the eyes.

"Come back to me."

Her breath seems to hitch, but she does not take her eyes off of him. Tentatively, she guides his hands to the distention in her stomach.

Not another word passes between them.

For the first time in his life, he feels safe.

* * *

They sit in silence as she processes his words.

"When?"

"Two weeks."

She nods in acceptance, sips her tea, and looks back at him.

"How long?"

He gives a tired sigh, swirling the leaves in the bottom of his cup.

"We don't know. It may be a month. It may be the whole Winter. The Earth Kingdom is unpredictable, and inestimable when it comes to resistance. I may not be here when you give birth."

She is silent. Nothing is heard but the servants whispering in the corridors.

Finally, she speaks.

"I want to see you become Fire Lord, Prince Iroh. Our nation and our child, you need to be there for both of them. Promise me," Her voice drops, "Promise you will return."

"There is no need for concern. I will return safely."

"Yes," Her voice is stern, "But you will not be the same."

* * *

Winter is cold.

The days seem long and the nights endless, but he has no perception of time. All he really feels beyond his blurry sense of reality is the cold.

There is a time after a battle when his forces are down to half their original numbers. He is tired and cold. He begins to wonder what's so important about being a prince, about fighting the war. If he just walks away from the battlefield and disappears into the great unknown of the Earth Kingdom, who will miss him? A nation he doesn't love? A father who rules without counsel? A brother who wants his place? After all, he has never made much of a difference. He obeys his father and leads the armies, but the world does not change, and the nation does not change, and his life does not change.

He wonders if it would be so bad to just lie down and go to sleep. To let the world and the exhaustion and the monotony just burn away. He sees it happening in his mind, all he knows smoldering black and drifting away, until there is nothing left but-

-But a small room with open windows and a woman with a swollen stomach pouring tea.

So he makes himself tea, too. Jasmine. It's weak and bitter, but it burns with life as he swallows.

The next day, the Fire Nation destroys the Earth Kingdom's southern forces.

* * *

She is in pain.

The world seems to fall to pieces around her, and she can't concentrate.

"Where is he? Where is he?"

Someone's holding her hand. His? No, it's small and soft. A woman. Someone she doesn't know. She continues to flail, searching, but she cannot see clearly. Everything is blurry and all she can do is turn, turn, turn.

Her stomach hurts. Something inside it is kicking and squirming. What is it? A baby. It's a baby. Her baby. His baby. Where is he?

They're holding her down, telling her to blow, to pant; it's coming too fast. She tries to blow but can't seem to get her lungs working. Where is he? Where is he?

She is vaguely aware of a commotion in another room. Too loud. Hard to think. But she can't think anyway. Why can't she think clearly? Where is he?

Who? Who is he?

"Prince Iroh-" She gasps.

And the room quiets as she continues to thrash about. Someone with a deeper voice- who's voice is that?- is speaking harshly to somebody else. She whimpers as her stomach starts to ache and spasm.

Then a new hand takes hers. This one is rough and large, encompassing her own.

She calms down and tries to focus on the deep voice that is speaking to her. Her vision slowly clears enough for her to make out a serious face. Young. Dark. Frightening.

His words become more clear as she makes out more of his features.

"Just breathe. You're alright. It's alright. I'm here. I'm back. I'm different, but I'm back. You're alright. It's alright."

She tries to sit up but can't. She can't seem to control her body properly. Everything just feels limp and heavy. She can't understand what is wrong with her.

"Prince Iroh," She breathes, barely enough breath to make a sound. "What's happening to me? Where were you? I can't- I can't seem to-"

He places a hand on her forehead and shushes her, sharper than he means too.

"You have a fever. Your body is under stress and has gone into labor. The baby will be here soon. Try to breathe, it should help."

She tries, but her breaths are shallow and difficult. He continues to hold her hand and talk to her as the physicians work.

A servant leaves on his command and returns with a hot towel. The soothing scent of jasmine engulfs her, and her breathing becomes easier.

Outside the rain is pouring. A stable boy hurries to rescue an ostrich horse, left by its rider in the middle of the courtyard.

* * *

The boy is small. He doesn't cry. Doesn't squirm. Doesn't yawn or stretch. He is quiet and still and incredibly tiny. He would fit snugly in his father's large hands, but the Crown Prince has yet to hold his child.

He is still holding the mother.

She is small, too. Her son resembles her in every way. They are dark and soft. They are gentle. Quiet.

Slowly, he lets her head fall back to rest on the pillow. Her skin is cold and pale. And soft. He brushes her tangled hair from her face as he whispers her name. Her hand still holds his, but her grip is weakening. He doesn't know what to do but to hold on to her.

"Iroh," She breathes, abandoning all formality. "Is the baby healthy?"

He curses at her, gripping her hand tighter.

"Forget the child, you're worth more than the sort of heir you produce."

"I don't care," She wheezes, "If he's a prince or a palanquin carrier; is my son alright?"

He is surprised. Looking over at the boy, he seems to realize for the first time that this is his child. His tiny, discolored, helpless child. This is the baby she bore.

"He's small, but they say he'll be alright. His skin is a bit red, but he's not thin."

She seems to relax, but he panics as her muscles loosen.

"You can't do that! The blood will flow more freely-"

"Iroh. You can't keep me from dying. No one can. The damage is internal, I should have been more careful, but nothing can stop it now. If only-" She tries to reach for his face, but her hand falls uselessly at her side. She sighs. "-If only I could hold him with my own two hands, just once. If only I could feel his breath on my skin." She starts to cry.

"If only I could feel his hand grip mine, and watch him learn to crawl. If I could watch his eyes becoming yours. If I could walk with him by the pond. If I could watch him drink my tea."

He leaves her side to retrieve the child from a maid. Placing the boy on her lap, he wraps his arms around her to help her hold the baby. She stops crying to look down at the tiny infant in her arms. Slowly, the baby opens his eyes to stare back at her. He is solemn and quiet, not batting an eyelash.

"Please," She whispers, "Please spend your whole life laughing. Don't let them keep you serious. It will all be too short to never enjoy anything. Promise me." She is no longer looking at the baby, but at her husband. "Don't let our son grow up alone. Don't let him feel distanced from you. Don't let him be like us."

Iroh, Crown Prince of the Fire Nation, swallows and gives his word.

She smiles, clumsily gives his jaw a kiss, and then kisses her baby, too.

"Lu Ten," She whispers, "The road we all must cross. May you make it safely, my son."

* * *

They protested that the name was bad luck, a bad omen for a hard life. He declared that an easy life would produce a weak heir, and laughed. They could do nothing for the shock of hearing him.

Indeed, they were all quite out of sorts for a while because Prince Iroh laughed a good deal. Prince Lu Ten laughed with him.

It was more than baffling how they could go from fierce sparring to sitting about and drinking tea together. That was what they did the most; drink tea. Whether they had five weeks or five minutes to spend together, The Crown Prince always found time to make tea for his son.

And as it was, he did nearly everything with his son anyway, so there really was no sense in stopping him. There would be times when his father, or his brother, or his servants would think themselves into a mess trying to figure out just what had happened to him.

Prince Iroh, who never laughed.

Prince Iroh, who shared his life with nobody.

Prince Iroh, who had scarcely known his own wife.

Now he spent the days reading and brewing and planning. He neither neglected his princely duties nor his simple pleasures. There were times when he could be seen sitting beneath the trees with his little toddler balanced on his knee, simply watching the leaves fall. And then he would get up and spot any onlooker and invite them to tea with himself and the youngest prince.

None of them ever saw, of course, the days when he would stare restlessly past the windows and the gardens and the maps. Suddenly, almost without thought, he would pack up his favorite tea set and kidnap Prince Lu Ten, and off they would go. Through the village to an open field, they would find the head stone and set up their blankets. He would read the name to his son, who had no recollection of the person. It was someone neither of them knew.

But on those restless days, it was their favorite solution; having tea with a stranger who they would never really know, but was the source of their lives.

* * *

(A/N; I am shamefully late and will try to get this week's actual prompt out on time. Gimme a break. I mean, I don't deserve a break, but I'm 'merican, so give it to me anyway. Just kidding, deadline harassment helps build character, and I need that.

This is actually for last week's prompt, which was "Tea Party". This was inspired by BentPaperClip's "Tea With a Stranger" over on youtube. It's fantastic, but so are, like, all their videos.

I wanted to see what Iroh was like when he was young. We never actually see him before Lu Ten was born, and we don't know anything about his wife, who doesn't seem to be there in any of the flashbacks. I realize this may have been a bit cruel/cliche of me, but I wanted to see Iroh, who changes so many lives, before his own life had changed. Should you feel sorry for nameless Lu Ten's mum? Yes and no. Her life totally sucked up until the end, and Iroh didn't really give her much to be happy about, but he was there when she needed him most, and kept the name she had given their son. Plus, even though she doesn't know it, she pretty much saved the world by changing Iroh. So, yeah, no. Her existence itself was a wonderful thing because of what she accomplished. I thought it was kind of cool, but, you know, you don't have to like or agree with any of this if you don't want to.

Minor disclaimer; my descriptions of childbirth and all the precursors to it are not accurate, and cannot plausibly be as I actually have no firsthand experience.)


End file.
